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User blog:GalaxE/Cosmic Perspective Volume II - Galaxian's GGaD Writing! :)
Galaxian (the Almighty)'s Note: Hey, all! To start off, I made this version separate from the other "Cosmic Perspective" because that one is...well, much more random and disorganized. And it got too long for me to edit, because I can't edit blog posts when they get too long, apparently. So, I came up with the solution of...why not just make another version? Besides, all those events in the first volume happen before Galaxian's most recent amnesic bout, which means this time around I'm going to be developing characters and plots more, in writing. Yeah, I guess this one may have in-between events and fluff that has nothing to do with the "main characters" of plots, but those will be for character development. I hope to be more organized this time around xD, and I certainly hope my writing is improving. Anyhow, all of my characters will likely appear at some point, and do expect to see certain characters a lot (the ones that have to do with the plot I like to call the A.A. plot). Overall, I can say to definitely expect: *Galaxian (I'd say this is a given) *Hitan *The Apologetic Assassin (the plot is called the A.A. plot for a reason :D) *The Seafood Squad - Benigno & Baldr/Baldur *The 0RES in general *Lianhuan and a lot of Ancient Chinese mages *More as I see fit. Warning: My writing isn't necessarily inappropriate/mature or too graphic, but my works do include a fairly large amount of violence, potentially emotion-provoking language, and visual descriptions. I consider action, descriptions, and word-choice to be some of the largest and most relevant aspects of writing, yet I know my writing style and topics may be a "trigger" for some. I try to include warnings for topics and subjects I will cover in each chapter that will potentially upset someone, but I can't ensure that I'm good at describing at all, not to mention there are certainly topics out there that could "trigger" that I skip over, or am not aware of. If at any point my writing includes something that makes you feel worse than you should feel or already feel (like, it's okay to feel a bit sad, but not too sad, if you get what I mean), or you know you shouldn't read, then please, don't read it. Your personal wellbeing is the most important, not knowing my plots, characters, and whatever weird inspirations I gain in this weird mind of mine. Otherwise, get ready for a train wreck of cringe, lack of time/time management/effort, attempted foreshadowing, writing phase chains, angst sections, and much, much more. Buckle in! ''' Prologue (In the works, please hold.) __TOC__ Mystery, the Apologetic Assassin' (( A/N: Warning for violence, descriptions of an assassination, and possibly graphical descriptions. This was part of my Scribble September works; the prompt was “Mystery”. Enjoy. :) )) They didn’t know them. They did not know ''them. They would never know them, for they did not want to be known. And so, it would stay that way, for eternity, who can tell? There were moments where the A.A. wished that maybe others would know them, but most of those people ended up dead. They needed to be that way, and stay that way. People who knew them would be cursed, anyways. They were still better off, shortly, dead. Take the people who ordered them on this mission, for one. They spun the gun in their hand, purely from reflex, as where they were was completely dark. They stopped it with an angle on the hilt, a finger a mere millimeter from the trigger. Such elegant weapons, yet at the same time, so cumbersome. They would have preferred more efficient methods, but there could be no mistake. One mistake would equal death for an assassin. They couldn’t afford that. Of all other punishments they could take, they could not undertake death. They had checked the gun beforehand, and they didn’t need a silencer. Everyone else was dead except their target, so no one could possibly hear them. They didn’t sense anyone nearby, either, within hearing distance. They could only hear the sound of papers shifting restlessly, as if from the wind. An open window, perhaps. After all, this was the tallest floor in the narrow skyscraper; perhaps mortals had a liking to open windows on high altitudes. They aimed the gun, but the target, the man…wasn’t there. The assassin immediately plunged backwards, just in time for the ground where they had been to fall. They were still silent, however; the only sound that could be heard was the resounding clang of another cage that fell before where they had been again, for they had retreated a bit more in the nick of time…and the sound of a man heavily breathing, as if clicking a remote control had been the most tedious work. The assassin buried themselves in shadow as they leaned against the wall, listening to the footsteps from where the man had managed to hide in. Click, clack. Click, clack. Just from that, they knew he was wearing expensive shoes with heels. He was a nervous man who valued his own safety very much, likely over those around him and even those protecting him, and he had greater instincts than most of the A.A.’s targets. Then he stopped at the edge of the temporary ravine, staring down into it. The A.A. took all of it into their eyes. An assassin wasn’t supposed to see their target as a human, but they always did. It made it easier for them, not the other way around, because they could see through the humanity. In that instant, they could see the bitterness of emotion on the man’s eyes—fear, determination, a bit of triumph that he had captured someone who tried to kill him. Oh, perhaps he didn’t know about those out there yet, or perhaps he did. Regardless, he did not think about the Why, and Who. He just thought—and thought he knew—that he had overcome something that tried to scar him, eliminate him even. He did not think about the reasons that both minorities and majorities sought his blood for: The deals he had made in the underworld for his own benefit, the people he’d dragged into his affairs, his gains that were all for power, and his luxury when the citizens were still impoverished and starving. He stood in triumph. His head only went through the triumphant thoughts of I’m alive. I won. It was a chess board that he thought he had nailed the checkmate upon. He had not. He had lost, for his soon-to-be-killer had slipped through the grasps of the cage, dodged the traps he had set up, and seen his idiocy to the end: The arrogant man hadn’t even bothered to carry a weapon for self-defense at the very least, not to say to fight back at all. What a fool. And then it was there, through the cages that were supposed to hold in the assassin and not the victim, but in which the situation had somehow been impossibly reversed, their gazes met for a split instant. They were the perpetrator and the victim, the perpetrator and the perpetrator, the killer of the perpetrator, the killer of the killer, but which one was which did not matter anymore. They allowed that one glimpse out of the mysterious—for the eyes that were so prideful instants ago to slip from their gaze, and to rove over their form, over the shadow that they were; over the night black of their mask; until they finally returned to the pale, baleful orbs obscuring their true eyes, the same color as the bloodshed they witnessed at their own hands. His lips parted, trembling, for an instant. His hands shook, even though his mind couldn’t fathom the impossible, because his mind had understood the meaning of fear. Try as he might to form a plea, the words shriveled away on his tongue. He, as all did before their death, understood the utter feeling of helplessness: Death. But as they looked into those fearful, pleading, yet desolate eyes, the A.A. felt no hesitation, and no twinge of pity. All creatures feared death, and that included monsters. There were no differences to such beings, like the one cowering before them. They were not humans in that instant. They were merely alive, and they were to face their greatest fear. In that instant as they were forced to do so, perhaps their humanity would spark; they would perhaps see this as a consequence for what they had done. They wanted to be forgiven. This was retribution for all they had done. Yet, there was still that bit of humanity in such monsters. It was to that fragment of what they were supposed to be that the Apologetic Assassin uttered: “I’m sorry.” Then a gunshot rang out, and the world was still. ''' The Meaning of Solitude, Yuezheng Xuqiao'' ' ''(A/N: Warning for, uh, violence, and possible disturbing scenes. Also a warning for cringey writing, since I'm in a phase...anyways, enjoy.) There was nothing worse than loneliness for Yuezheng Xuqiao. Yet, blows and blows aimed at that exact weakness of his, taking away his close ones, forcing him to the lead of something he had never foreseen…propelling him headfirst into a conflict he had never wanted to happen. Life was an ever-constant battlefield, where one step could send him careening into nothingness, until it became a cycle, again and again. He was in that pit now, alone, trying not to despair. All he could see to either side was a red haze that may have once been blood, corpses littered across the ground as if some god had lost track of a vile full of human beads, barren land to all sides. Flags that once belonged to tribes stuck out, as if with a final vengeance. He was alone. Yet…he couldn’t recall just what had happened. Panic arose in his head like a fever, like a star before a world long plunged to ashes. What of his home? His family— Lianhuan. Just that name alone was enough to propel him into a standing position. He couldn’t be the only one left. He needed his brother. His sweet younger brother with all the charisma and energy in his world—where was he? Where was he?! “Lianhuan!” he shouted, clenching his fists in order to ignore the pain ricocheting up his body. His eyes roved frantically over all the bodies, the faceless bodies. None of them were recognizable; it was as if they had been maimed. “Where are you?” he shouted, but only faint echoes of his own voice, loud and desperate, rang back to him. Where are you? Where are you? Where are…? “Fear not,” a voice rose from behind him sharply. “He is not here.” Xuqiao whirled, already in a fighting position, to face a standing figure with no face. “Aye, I’m not going to hurt you,” the man said. “Yet.” The last word was as if a final blow. The general had been through far too many trials to be intimidated by such a threat, yet, he could sense that, if the other put his mind onto it, it wasn’t an impossible deed. Fear struck him his calloused heart like a bludgeoning spear, as soon as his vision focused on the other. White hair. As if to make sure this was not a world he had been transported to where absolutely everyone had white hair, Xuqiao’s left hand immediately shot up to feel for his own. His fingers met a familiar feature, a hard metallic mask. So, he too was faceless in this world. He let his hand drop from his mask once more. “Yuan Jin?” he spat, deciding that even if white hair were somehow a common trait here, he would still regard those with it with hostility, justifiably so. He was only met with a laugh. “So unnecessarily hostile, Yi Yang General.” “Vile creature,” he snarled in response, backing up slightly before standing still, like a tiger poised to pounce. The other merely laughed it off again. It was unnerving to watch a faceless person wavering slightly in place, as if prone to vanish any moment—but unfortunately, also not actually disappearing. His stern eyes remained settled on the other, until finally, the other resumed a more humane form. “Well, aren’t you going to ask me what I’m here for?” he finally asked. Xuqiao ignored that, just staring coldly at the other, who merely did some sort of imitation of a shrug. “Ah, well. I wasn’t expecting you to play along with all of this.” He stopped, and Xuqiao thought he saw the other put his hand on his chin for the moment, or whatever that blur at the side was. “There were ‘easier’ ways to do this, but I like to complicate things, you know…it’s never fun when everything’s easy. You would know, right?” “I dislike being compared to someone belonging to a tribe of sadists,” he stated instead of directly responding. He wasn’t sure how he would answer otherwise, anyways. It was his turn to be ignored, because the other said, “I’m sure you’ve figured out that this is merely a dream. See, I found it ironic that my tribe has a dream as well, in comparison to this situation.” He paused, apparently expecting a reaction from the general, which was none. “A dream that’s like that of the other tribes that have shunned us, in fact.” “I do not think the tribes wish to be compared with a tribe of sadists.” The other shrugged. “Well, it’s true, General. The thing is, unlike the other tribes, we know what must be done.” Biting back a sharp insult, Xuqiao narrowed his eyes, and remained silent. “Yes, it includes—” another nonchalant shrug, “—some extremes.” “Some,” he echoed bitterly through gritted teeth, trying not to remember. He couldn’t remember…he couldn’t… “Death comes to all,” came the simple response, not to rebut him, but as if it was a fact. What hurt the most was that it was true. “But for us, it is a way of life. The weak live, and the strong die, is it not, General?” The title of “General” had always bothered him so, a title he had never wanted. Apparently, by some chance, the other had seen that, and was now nudging away at a small crevice within the otherwise perfectly carved diamond. Or could he still be compared to a diamond here, wherever they were? “It is the cycle we seek to break,” he finally said reluctantly, directing his address towards death, “without the harming of others.” The other waved his statement off. “It is impossible to constantly refrain from harming others, be that an offending word, or a nick from the edge of a sword.” If the face had eyes, they were now gazing intently at the teenager. “If it were possible, you would not be at war, would you?” He scoffed. “I don’t expect a scoundrel such as you to understand.” Those words seemed like a hollow excuse even to him, but the other merely shrugged again. “Perhaps I don’t.” A smirk crept into his voice. “But, I do understand my own intentions.” For the first time, he started forwards towards Xuqiao, who moved backwards. His heel immediately hit the side of a dead body, causing him to lurch forwards not-so-gracefully, hissing from the very back of his throat. The other had no such apprehension, however, kicking an almost dismembered corpse out of the way. The general looked the other way as the head came off and rolled a short ways away, his entire body taut, but had to force his vision back around when the other stopped not three feet away from him. “Like I tried to say, this is for my tribe…and its dream.” Xuqiao was experienced in battle; he knew when a strike was coming. His arms came up to block, but the other’s blow merely phased through his defense like it was nothing, sending him flying, crash-landing against something cold yet sticky. His breath knocked out of him, his lungs struggled for that air unwilling to return, until finally he barely able to take in one jagged breath, and his mouth tasted dreadfully metallic. Blood. He hadn’t tasted it in a long time, and for a dream, the aroma was awfully realistic. “Surprised?” the other asked, ambling lazily towards where he had knocked the general back, incapacitated. “This is within my realm of control, General, and it is one you cannot even try to escape. You’ll have to wait for your savior. Like we have…so many times…” A savior? Whom…what…? “Right, and now you’re wondering…whom could that be?” The other stopped just over him, faceless, ghastly. “Whom? Am I right, General?” A sharp tip suddenly pushed into his first rib, making him gasp slightly. The force was increasing steadily with each second, as the other murmured, “I wonder…can someone could die because of being without one lung? Perhaps not?” He wanted to spit so many things. Fiend. Maniac. Demon. But, he could not move, he couldn’t do anything, and so he only swallowed his words painfully down his throat, trying to figure out some way to get out of this horrible dream. Perhaps if he allowed his suffering to take over him, it would be able to propel him back to reality? Yet, most of him was not sure about that. Most of him felt that, terribly, horribly, the other was the person solely in control of his presence in this world. And it was impossible to defeat an enemy who wasn’t actually there in a world with nothing there either, except pain and suffering, and some sort of goal that the other was trying to accomplish with him being here, yet, he couldn’t fathom what that was either. “If you’re wondering,” the other said with an innocent tone, “it’s true.” The point was pressing harder against him, splitting, rupturing, and burning him more from the inside. “If you die in a dream, you will die in the supposed real world.” Searing pain and realization ripped through his entire form, and as if sensing that, a small smile answered the faceless figure’s voice. “Isn’t that interesting, General? And after you, there will be more, until perhaps one of them finds a savior, or perhaps none of them…” Lianhuan—Tribal Leader—he couldn’t die like this—he couldn’t let them suffer after him—''no''— “Fiend,” another voice said, as sharp as a whirling kunai, and then, suddenly, the pain retreated. The general suddenly felt relieved, and feeling that way made him feel naked and childish. Trying to struggle up, he only managed to revive the pain, as well as the realization something alien was coursing through his veins. It was poison, he realized, snaking through his body. The pain would never be fully gone. That voice was…Lianhuan’s? The voice sounded so much like him, yet not. He squeezed his eyes shut, in prevention of tears that had forgotten to come and threaten him. No, no, his little brother couldn’t be here-- “So you did hear the beckoning I sent,” the faceless figure said, stepping away from Xuqiao now, as if he were now irrelevant. Hatred replaced the ever-temporary relief in the general’s mind, but it was only a broiling underneath the flame that could not burn. “I did,” the newcomer said with a chuckle. Xuqiao nearly became confused about it—what was there to laugh about?—until he realized a lesson someone had given him about the term ‘sarcasm’ in the outside world now. That someone had made it possible for Lianhuan to venture without him, because it was the one exception Xuqiao could ever make, for his younger brother to not be by his side—that he would be free, even momentarily, of this turbulent world. “I had to leave a crime scene for this,” the newcomer continued dryly. “It’d better be more worthy than you hurting Xuqiao in this twisted reality of yours.” “I thought this was a more interesting alternative to the other methods,” the faceless man offered. “Don’t you think so, Mighty God?” “Galax—” that was all Xuqiao got out before he choked on his own breath, and he covered the cough with one trembling hand. When he looked at it again, it was all some warped, dark version of blood red. Ah, so he could cough up blood in this world, too…good to know. “Don’t talk,” came the response, paced yet considerate. “I got you, Xuqiao.” There was a distinct shuffling sound somewhere to Xuqiao’s left…or was it his right? He thought he could hear the sound of the heel hitting the ground, and then the front, and then alternating. That was strange. He’d never been able to audibly hear Galaxian walking before. Maybe the laws of reality in this world were different as well. The other laughed slightly. “Unfortunately, young god, you do not…have him.” There was a sinister pause as Xuqiao thought he felt the other’s gaze on him, sharp and amused. “He’s been very interesting to have, but I’m afraid he can no longer be a spectator to this conversation. But fear not—perhaps I will have him again as a beacon the next time? Or would you prefer…another?” At the word ‘beacon’, an icy chill spread through the environment, seeping through Xuqiao’s robes to his bones, making him shiver. It balanced out after a bit, but when Galaxian spoke again, his voice was no longer such a reassuring calm. It was frigid. “Leave them out of whatever this is.” “Ah, but I cannot,” the other countered. “It is absolutely mandatory that I—” “''Listen''.” The harsh snap of the word/s send the air temperature plummeting again, but even lower, and this time, it stayed, a dagger lodged into the air’s flesh. “I do not care what you wish to speak with me, or what plans you have,” he seethed, “but I am going to make one thing clear. You will not touch Xuqiao again, or hurt him, or anyon''e I know here…unless you wish to personally experience what it means to be atomically dissected...''mortal.” There was only a pause, and then a wry laugh. “I have you in negotiating mode, god. Excellent.” Was it just Xuqiao, or was the red haze spreading in this small, desolate reality that their enemy had created? The red was blurring with an invasive white transparency that belonged to the fog of reality. Despite himself, he fought against it, for as much as he knew that his pain was screaming for him to snap back to the present, this was only a temporary reprieve from all of this. Suffering. Solitude. Helplessness—and now, even as Galaxian was there, somewhere to his direct left, he was leaving the god alone to all of that, and to handle all the problems dragged out by the thousand years of the Tribes. All the problems he had never told the deity about were now imploding upon themselves, and they were ugly. Besides, somewhere inside himself, he knew that this was not the last time he would see of the enemy of the Tribes. He was a target. They were all targets. They were the ones who sought to break the Cycle by any means necessary, in direct opposition to his tribe—and having been forced into this position he was in, now, he knew he couldn’t just do nothing. He was tired of being helpless and lonely, because in this endless tirade of a world where everyone came to this world by themselves, they were all lonely, just as he was. However, it was time for him to decide where that solitude led him, if it did at all, because he didn’t want to leave those problems of time for someone else to solve, as all he could do was struggle and watch. The red haze grew stronger, then vanished as the general was thrown back into the present, leaving the scene temporarily behind. Category:Blog posts